Two Hundred and Eight.

He was the sort of person who always bought the second-best banana in the supermarket pile
He was the sort of person who always gave an offering at churches he visited, even though he didn’t believe in any god
He was the sort of person who held open train carriages with his briefcase at every station, just in case
He was the sort of person who kept the last bite of sausage on his plate to give to a passing dog
He was the sort of person who always volunteered to sit in the emergency exit row on planes
He was the sort of person who fretted terribly over what to give his niece for Christmas
He was the sort of person who walked out of his way to stand in queues until they sorted themselves into elegant lines, then left
He was the sort of person who always wore a pocket handkerchief, in case anyone needed to sneeze
He was the sort of person who filled out forms in the most beautifully legible upper case
He was the sort of person who cried when his cat brought him a pigeon
He was the sort of person who wrote letters to the newspapers, urging for kindness
He was the sort of person who made a wish at every fountain
He was the sort of person who could dance a little, but never had the chance to prove it
He was the sort of person who longed to play the violin, and who would listen to Stravinsky and mime the bow strokes
He was the sort of person who wrote long, heartfelt letters and never sent them
He was the sort of person who ironed his dress pants twice every time
He was the sort of person who preferred strawberry to chocolate, but never said so, for fear of ridicule
He was the sort of person who had a deep, secret affection for shag pile carpet
He was the sort of person who had never quite learned to drive
He was the sort of person who had never played ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ with a daisy because he couldn’t bear to tear apart the flower